


fever dreams

by b_o_i



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Dark Shiro (Voltron), Dirty Talk, Dream Sex, Drugged Sex, Fuck Or Die, Gang Rape, M/M, Nipple Play, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, One-Sided Attraction, Pining Shiro (Voltron), Slut Shaming, Verbal Humiliation, Visions, lotor is a dick for real, pls be careful reading this lol, this is so filthy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-31
Updated: 2018-08-11
Packaged: 2018-09-20 21:13:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9516506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/b_o_i/pseuds/b_o_i
Summary: Lotor pauses in his examination and looks up at Shiro, head tilted. Thoughtful.“Is it worse watching him hating it?” Lotor says slowly. Pauses; smirks, “Orlovingit?”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> idk what this is lol im half awake, running on sheer willpower rn so have whatever this is  
> barely edited bc its Late so pls excuse any errors  
> read the tags and do b careful tho

 

Shiro wakes up to the pounding of his head and the feeling of cool metal against his skull. 

He lies there for a moment or two, listening. The air is stale. He’s propped up on something metal, tilted up but not completely vertical. Suddenly, he remembers the fight, defeating Zarkon, and he knows without even having to think about it that he’s on a Galra ship. Flexing of his arms and legs tells him he’s restrained. It’s all so familiar to his first time, his second time, every other time he was strapped down to a Galra table he almost panics right then and there, but manages to take a deep breath and hold on. 

A few moments of silence, before he hears a sound. A whimper. Something scared. Something angry. Something familiar. 

“Stop,” he hears, a voice so familiar he’d know it anywhere, “Get off of me,”

His eyes fly open, and _“Keith?_ ” he asks frantically before he even thinks about it. 

The sight that greets his eyes has him reeling, has his stomach dropping and his heart skipping a beat or ten. It _is_ Keith, a good five feet or so away from where he’s restrained, spread out on something like a bed, arms bound above his head, nearly naked except for his boxers and his goddamn fingerless gloves.

Someone leaning over him, long hair falling down to cover his face. Hands roaming.

_“Keith!?”_ he blurts out, confused and frantic and vaguely afraid. 

Keith jolts at his name, glances up with something like fear in his eyes, widening in recognition, “Shiro?” 

“Keith, oh god, what—?”

“Oh, good, you’re awake,” he’s interrupted by the someone hovering over Keith, long white hair parting when he looks up. Yellow eyes. Wicked smile. Seems to look right through him, seems to know exactly what he’s thinking.

“Who—?”

“I,” he interrupts again, “am Prince Lotor.” he grins “Heir to the Galran Empire.”

_Shit,_ Shiro thinks, _oh shit. Shit. Not Good, Very Not Good._

“What are—?”

“After we got you,” he interrupts again, and Shiro grits his teeth, frustrated and a little humiliated, “We found your little friend here floating around, looking for you. I decided not to have him killed. I think he’s pretty cute, personally.” he says this with a squeeze of Keith’s hip that makes him flinch. 

“Leave him alone,” Shiro says automatically. There’s something not right about this, something that doesn’t quite add up, but he doesn’t know what. Lotor’s grin widens at this. “Do what you want with me, but leave him alone.” 

The prince pouts, leans forward, teeth ragging along Keith’s collarbone, making the boy freeze and squeeze his eyes shut, “But we were just getting started.” 

“Don’t _touch_ him,” Shiro warns. 

“Or what?” the prince counters, “You’ll _kill_ me? Can’t do very much from where you’re sitting, I don’t think.”

“Shiro—“ Keith tries to say, but is cut off with two fingers shoved into his mouth, forcing in deep and making him choke. 

Shiro feels a wave of panic at the sounds he makes, but Lotor just grins again, “Make sure to get them nice and wet, sweetie. I don’t want this hurting too bad.” 

Keith seems to feel the exact same dreadat the exact same moment that Shiro does, with the way his eyes widen and his arms shake. 

_“Don’t,”_ Shiro spits, “Don’t _touch_ him, don’t you _dare,”_

But Lotor is peeling Keith’s boxers off, holding down his kicking legs with his one free hand like they’re nothing. He shoves his fingers deeper down his throat before pulling them out quickly. Keith gasps for breath, each cough like a stab in Shiro’s heart. 

His head lolls to the side, eyes wide and terrified, “Shiro—“ is all he gets out before he _screams,_ two of Lotor’s fingers forcing their way into him. 

He yanks at the restraints around his hands just as Shiro yanks at his, feeling nauseous and angry and _scared._

_“Shiro,_ ” Keith calls again—something _not right,_ something _off_ , “Shiro, please _help_ me, it hurts, _please,”_

“Stop,” Shiro cries, practically pleading as Lotor lines himself up—not enough preparation oh god it’s going to hurt Keith so bad Keith is going to hurt so bad, “ _Please_ , don’t hurt him,” 

The prince just looks up and smirks, before he’s pushing in, slow and steady. Keith arches off the bed, thighs quivering under the prince’s hands where he’s forcing them wide open. Shiro flinches when he lets out a long, pained whine, shaking his head and trying to move away from the intrusion. 

He lets out a sob when Lotor pulls out and thrusts back in.

“Keith,” Shiro says, trying to keep his voice leveler than he feels, furious and this close to crying because he loves Keith so much and this shouldn’t be happening to him, _god_ , “You’ll be okay. You’ll get through this. It’ll be okay, I promise,” 

Lotor practically cackles, gripping Keith’s bony hips and pulling him into a thrust, “Yeah, Keith,” he repeats mockingly, “it’ll all be okay. I’m sure your brave leader will save you, as soon as he manages to break free.”

Keith just clenches his eyes shut, trying to bury his face in his shoulder as if willing this to be over. Shiro wills it, too. It doesn’t end. 

Instead, Lotor slows down, switches from brutal thrusts to slow grinds. Keith’s breath catches. Shiro’s does, too. 

“He really is something else,” the Galra murmurs, as if pointing something out to Shiro, finger drawing a teasing line down Keith’s chest. Shiro watches Keith squirm to get away from the touch, but Lotor just presses harder, hips driving in deeper. Keith shudders.

Lotor pauses in his examination and looks up at Shiro, head tilted. Thoughtful. 

“Is it worse watching him hating it?” Lotor say slowly. Pauses; smirks, “Or _loving_ it?”

Suddenly, Keith’s grunt of discomfort morphs into a long, drawn out moan. It sends something hot and sharp down Shiro’s spine and to his groin. 

Lotor grinds into the paladin, and Shiro watches in something like vague horror and vaguer arousal as Keith _arches_ into it, pale thighs falling open like he’s welcoming it. 

Lotor reaches up to take a fistful of dark hair and _pulls_. Keith throws his fucking head back and actually _whimpers_ —it’s like something out of a wet dream, out of Shiro’s wet dream—he’s imagined things like this, alone in the dark, late enough that he could pretend it wasn’t completely inappropriate and horrible to think about Keith like this, thought about spreading him out and pulling his hair and watching his face and fuck, fuck, this is bad, this is Not Good, this is—

“ _Your Majesty,”_ Keith moans, and Shiro swears he feels his soul leave his body, “Oh _god—please,”_ and that’s the moment Shiro knows for sure this isn’t real, this is all in his head, these Galra bastards must have done something to him, got into his mind and pulled out things he wanted to keep hidden because he has never heard Keith beg like this, he would never beg for the enemy like this.

“What’s the matter, paladin?” Lotor asks, voice mocking, “Are you not enjoying this? Would you like it more if it were you?” 

The prince leans back and pulls out; Shiro watches a line of his enemy’s cum be drawn out with him. He blinks and suddenly it’s… _him_ —he’s—someone—something that _looks_ like him, at least; the same him he’d seen when he was fighting that witch when they busted Allura out. Sharp smile and glowing eyes and everything he never wanted to see again, leaning over Keith and pushing in with one quick thrust. 

Keith arches again, mouth hanging open, lips bitten bright bright red. Not Shiro bends down, metal hand scraping over Keith’s chest and catching on a budding nipple, and catches those lips in a kiss that has Keith whimpering again. 

“Stop,” Shiro says, forcing the word out like it hurts him—it hurts him, it hurts him because it’s not real, it hurts him because it was never supposed to be like this, it hurts him because— _“Shiro,”_ Keith moans, voice breaking, _“Takashi_ , oh,”—it isn’t _him._

It looks like him, but it’s not. He’s still trapped, can’t move his arms, his legs, can’t reach out and touch, can’t run away. He’s watching Keith fall apart under his hands, but they aren’t _his hands._

He grits his teeth and squeezes his eyes shut and looks away, trying to block out the sounds, Jesus _Christ,_ the _sounds._ There’s a sharp tug on his hair—his head is forced forwards and his eyes shoot open reflexively. 

“Don’t be like that,” he hears Lotor murmur in his ear, breath hot against his neck, “Look. You _want_ this.”

“No—“

“I’ve seen inside your head,” the price says, scolding like he would a child, “I know exactly what you desire. You want this,” his grip tightens and Shiro winces, “You want to touch him like this, hold him like this. You want him to moan for you, call your name, cry for you. Do you think he’s the type of guy to cry when he comes? So _overwhelmed,_ feeling so _good,_ all because of you?” a soft laugh, “I sure think so. I think he would writhe and squirm and shake so pretty, taking it like the good little whore he is—don’t you think he’d look pretty in robes? I think I’ll add him to my personal harem after the war is over, wouldn’t that be nice?” 

Shiro opens his mouth to tell him exactly how _not nice_ is actually is, but then Keith—Not Keith, it’s not him, Keith is safe in the castle, far far from here—looks up at him. Dark hair plastered to his forehead, face flushes a pretty bright pink, eyes lidded. _“Shiro,”_ he cries, like a prayer, like a plea. 

“It could all be yours,” the prince whispers, “He could be yours. The Empire could get you exactly what you want—what you _need._ Just give in. You could have him.” 

_“Please,”_ Keith moans, and god, Shiro would do anything he could to give this boy exactly what he wants, almost says _of course_ , right there because Keith is so wanting and so needing and so _real_ and finally looking at _him_ , finally asking for _him,_ and—

He shuts his eyes. Shakes his head so hard it hurts. 

“Stop,” he says again, cursing the way his voice catches. “Please, just. Stop.” 

When he dares to open his eyes again, the room is empty. Silent. 

“You’re going to be hard one to crack,” he hears, looks over to see Lotor in all his white haired, smirking glory, looking extremely self-satisfied. He takes a step forward; towers over him, “But I know what you want, paladin. And sooner or later, you’re going to crack.”

He giggles, “And I’m so excited to meet your little friend in person. I’m sure he’ll be just as fun.”

A pause, as he turns to walk away. “Maybe I’ll let you watch for real next time.”

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lotor lets him watch for real next time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> idk what this is i'm sorry shiro im sorry keith i love you both i swear  
> anyways do read the tags this is honestly so filthy and bad lol be careful pls

It happens so much sooner than he hoped it would. They come for him, his team, because of course they do—not all of them, because no matter how much they care about him they aren't foolish, they’ve all learned from their past escapades, but they come.

They’ve caught Keith and Hunk, is what he gets from the yells and the way Lotor’s face twists into a scowl and then lights up—they came to look for him, came to get him out—Keith came for him, just like Shiro hoped and fears he would. Shiro doesn’t know where the rest of them are, but he’s glad they aren’t here, aren’t here to get caught.

Shiro doesn’t know how long he’s been here, whether it’s been weeks or months, but he’s gotten used to the cuffs around his wrists again, the cool metal against his head. He’s gotten used to Lotor’s scowl and wondered thousands of times why they haven't thrown him back into the gladiator ring—why the prince seems so intent on getting him to give up, give in. 

He hasn’t yet. He’s come close, but he hasn’t. 

He knows he’s close, probably. Lotor probably does too. So when the prince’s face _lights up_ like that, Shiro wishes Keith hadn’t been the one to come for him. All the visions he’s had, the tricks Lotor’s played on him, the promises he’s made—Keith shouldn’t have come, _god._

He shouldn’t have come, but there he is, dragged in kicking snarling through the door by two guards, hands bound tight behind his back, some kind of gag covering his mouth. His armor is gone, leaving just the black skin-tight suit underneath. Shiro’s heart plummets. 

“Here he is,” Lotor says by way of greeting, meeting Keith’s icy glare with a smile. Keith looks like he’s about to yell through the gag when he meets Shiro’s eye and his own widen—surprise and relief and fear all at once. 

“Shiro?” he seems to try to say through the gag, and Shiro can practically hear the gentle way his voice goes whenever he says his name. God.

“Please,” is what Shiro says, looking at Keith’s confused eyes but talking to Lotor, “Please don’t do this.”

Lotor just smiles, the way he does, “That didn’t work the first time, what makes you think it’ll work now?”

Keith looks warily between them, shoulders hunched between the two guards the way they do when he’s on guard and trying to work something out, and Shiro’s heart aches. Keith has no idea what’s going to happen and nothing’s even happened yet and Shiro feels like he’s going to cry already. 

“Just— _please,”_ he says uselessly, “He hasn’t done anything, and it’s not—I didn’t give in the first time, so—I’m not—“

“Yes, you will,” Lotor cuts in, “You _will_ crack, because this time you know it’s real. It’ll have lasting consequences. I caught him just for you, you know,” he gestures to the guards, and Keith is shoved into the prince, who holds him against his chest easily, like Keith isn’t kicking at him; the guards leave, “I’m going to do whatever I want with him, _Paladin,_ and there isn’t a damn thing you can do about it.”

Keith squeaks when Lotor reaches down and gropes him, just _squeezes_ right between his legs like it’s nothing. Shiro knows Keith isn’t super experienced in this regard (a fact he used to revel in, selfishly), but Keith isn’t _stupid._ He isn’t naive. He knows where this is going. Shiro’s going to throw up.

“The question is,” Lotor continues, unbothered by Keith trying to knee him in the crotch, trying to twist his way out with muffled curses, “is what I should do first.” He tilts his head like he’s thinking, “I could call my guards back in,” Keith freezes, “I’m sure they’d love to get their hands on him. What do you think, Shiro? Should we let them have their way with him? One by one, or all at once?”

“I think you should _stop,_ you sick fuck,” he says through clenched and terrified teeth, “Just—leave him _alone_ —please, just—“

_“Awh,”_ he interrupts. “that’d probably make you _jealous,_ though, wouldn’t it? Me too. I don’t really feel like sharing too much right now anyways.”

_“Please—“_ Shiro starts again, but Lotor growls, sharp nails digging into Keith’s shoulder where he’s gripping him.

“Shut the hell up, will you?” he warns, “Your whining got old the first two times you did it.”

Shiro scowls, opens his mouth to show him what whining really is, but stops short when Keith flinches, Lotor’s nails digging deeper into his shoulder. 

Lotor’s mouth twists into a horrible grin, and Shiro has to shut his eyes. Feels horrible about it, hates what Keith must think of him right now.

"Where should I do it, do you think?” he continues, walking forward, dragging Keith along with him, “Against the wall, maybe? On the floor? I could drag a bed in here like last time. Or, _oooh,”_ Shiro jerks at the sudden weight on his torso, opens his eyes, “how about right on top of you? How does that sound?” Lotor sounds absolutely _thrilled._ “You can see everything up close and personal—you might even get to touch him this time.”

And Shiro _can_ —he can see the terror in Keith’s odd colored eyes, no trace of the anger or defiance he always carried so well. He’s gone through a lot, Shiro knows, and they're all prepared to face the danger this job brings, but _this_ —this has never been this real of a threat to him. He’s never prepared himself for this—he’s practically a _kid_ , for God’s sake, he’s too young for this, he’s too _good_ for this. 

Shiro’s going to cry. He’s going to throw up, he’s going to fall apart. 

He can feel the drag of the thick fabric of Keith’s suit as Lotor pushes him up, Keith’s chin resting awkwardly on Shiro’s chest, bent over on the tilted table, knees on either side of Shiro.

Keith’s face is flushed—with embarrassment or anger or both, Shiro doesn’t know—and he pulls at his wrists a few times, but then Lotor’s hand is at his back, holding him down and keeping him still. 

“Yeah,” Lotor muses, “Yeah, I like this. You’ll be able to see everything. I wonder if you’ll get hard again.”

Shiro flushes in shame, takes a shaky breath and forces himself to meet Keith’s gaze—confused and young and so fucking scared, uncharacteristically quiet, the way he is when he’s about to shut down or have a panic attack.

“Keith, hey,” Shiro says, gently as he can manage; Keith looks up at him frantically, jerks as Lotor’s hand finds the zipper at the back of his neck and drags it down with zero tact, “It’ll be okay. It’ll be alright,” he swallows and tries to ignore how much this feels like last time, how much he sounds like he’s lying, “You’ve made it through so much, you can make it through this, I know it.”

Lotor fucking _giggles_ as he digs a hand into the thick hair on the back of Keith’s head and pulls, dragging out a choked sound, “Talking him through it again?” he mocks, leans in and breathes against Keith’s neck, “Your brave leader can’t help you, little Paladin. Look at him. I’m gonna fuck you, and he’s gonna sit there and watch me do it.” he laughs, low and breathy, like he’s excited, “But yeah, I’m sure you’ll be _okay.”_

Keith shudders, closes his eyes like he’s trying to center himself. 

Lotor braces one hand on Keith’s bony hip and reaches over to shove his fingers into Shiro’s mouth—a cruel imitation of last time. 

“You get ‘em wet for me this time, will you? Wetter than before or it’ll hurt him for real this time.”

For real this time. It’s real this time. It’s so so real this time, and Keith will hurt for real this time, and it’s that thought, the image of Keith arching and shaking his head in pain, that makes him swallow whatever’s left of his pride and close his mouth around the prince’s fingers.

He shoves them deeper, making Shiro choke, before yanking them out and dragging them down the bend of Keith’s shaking back. 

Shiro has to look away from Keith’s face when Lotor pushes them in. Keith kind of. Slumps against him. Breathes ragged and broken and buries his head into Shiro’s chest.

_“Fuck,”_ Lotor breathes, sounding genuinely enthralled, “He’s tighter than I thought. You’ve never done this before, have you? Pretty thing like you? I’m gonna be your first?” 

Shiro feels Keith shudder against him, and wishes his hands were free so he could run his fingers through his hair, wrap him up and take him away from this, protect him from this. 

“It’s okay, Keith,” he says, so so quietly, “It’s okay.”

Keith nods against his chest, frantic. 

It’s not enough, he hasn’t been stretched enough when Lotor decides he’s bored of just his fingers and wipes them on Keith’s back. 

There’s the sound of a zipper, and Keith tenses as Lotor yanks his hips up, gripping possessively, and pushes in slowslowsteady. He lets out a breath that could be a sob, that probably is a sob, and Shiro feels one building too—it’s his fault, it’s his fault Keith is here in the first place, his fault this horrible thing is happening to this beautiful boy, fuck. 

“Please,” he tries one last time, “Please, let me take his place, please stop, leave him alone,”

And Lotor, the absolute monster, just laughs breathlessly, “No offense, Champion, but he looks better taking my cock that you ever could, I think. Not to be rude or anything—he’s more my type. No hard feelings, right?”

He pulls out and thrusts back in, rocking Keith against him. He can feel his nipples dragging against him, feel the sweat on his forehead, feel the hot tears on his chest.

And just when he thinks it can’t get any worse, Lotor starts talking. He almost forgot how much the bastard loves hearing his own fucking voice.

“God, I bet you’d _love_ to feel this, wouldn’t you?” he moans, “You’ve thought about it, I know you have, thought about bending him over and fucking him just like this, against a wall or your bed—in now of the lions, even—doesn’t really matter to you.” 

And he’s right, he’s so fucking right and Shiro is so ashamed and humiliated and sorry that he’s selfishly glad Keith isn’t looking at him. 

“It’s like he was _made_ for this, made to be tied up and fucked. He’ll be one of my favorites, I’m sure. Once I dress him up and add him to my harem— _fuck_ , people will be begging me to let them have him. Go on,” he grips Shiro’s hair so hard his eyes snap back open, “He’s right here, might as well take a look, right? You’ve wanted this for so long, and it’s right in front of you—on top of you.”

Despite himself, Shiro does, traces the elegant arch of Keith’s back with his eyes, the way his trembling thighs are spread open wide, fists clenching and unclenching where they're bound at his back. He can smell him, smell the sweat and sex and that mix of freedom and desert that’s so uniquely Keith it makes him want to cry.

He’s disgusted with himself.

“Fuck you,” he snarls, “You sick bastard—I’ll kill you, I swear to god,”

Lotor laughs again, the bastard, cruel and vicious. He yanks Keith’s hair again, this time dragging him up onto his shaking knees, one arm across his chest to hold him up—baring him, putting him on display of Shiro to see.

His eyes are red and wet. He’s so so pretty, so beautiful, but his eyes are wet and he’s so afraid and that’s all Shiro can see.

Lotor fucks him like that, fucks up into him with brutal thrusts, hands roaming his chest and teeth nipping at his neck and ear, grinning the whole fucking time.

“I should let you fuck him, Champion,” he says, breathless, “Make him ride you while you can’t touch him. Should call my guards in and have them all take turns right in front of you—make you go last, when he’s all wet and messy and _wrecked_ —oh, I’d love to see the look on your face.” 

Shiro does sob this time, and _that_ —that seems to be what sends the sick fuck over the edge. He’s moaning low and biting Keith’s shoulder sharply—Keith makes a broken noise and slumps limp in the prince’s arms. He’s refused to open his eyes, refused to make a sound until now. He’s so fucking strong it makes Shiro _hurt._

Lotor pulls out, shoves Keith back onto Shiro’s chest. He feels something hot running down Keith’s thighs and into his legs, and feels nauseous. 

Lotor stands. Stretches, like he just slept too long. 

“That was relaxing, wasn’t it?” he asks neither of them. Keith is too still on top of Shiro. Too quiet. (And Shiro’s so so afraid he’ll never hear him laugh again after this. This has changed things forever—they’ll never be the same, things will never be the same between them—Keith will carry this like he carries everything: stubbornly alone.)

Lotor claps, and the guards come back in—Shiro wonders if they were listening through the door, if they were hoping their prince would follow through on his threat. Sick fuckers.

They yank Keith off of him roughly. He groans weakly. Still refuses to open his eyes. Refuses to look at any of them. Shiro wonders if he’ll ever be able to look at him again. Shiro wonders if they’ll make it out of here.

Lotor gestures vaguely, and then they’re dragging Keith away, not bothering to cover him up in any way, like they're planning to drag him back to whatever cell with cum dripping down his thighs.

“Where are you taking him?” Shiro demands, voice weak and cracking.

Lotor shrugs vaguely. “Back to his cell with the yellow one.”

Shiro lets out a relieved breath—Hunk will be overwhelmed, probably, be horrified, but he know he’ll do everything in his power to help his friend. Keith will be in safe hands for now.

“I figure I’ll let him rest while I figure out what to do with him.”

Shiro’s heart sinks through the fucking ground. Lotor leaves him there without another thought, Keith sweat still on his chest and Lotor’s cum on his legs.

They have to get out. They have to _get out._

He hopes with everything he has that the others are on their way. 

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lotor follows through on his threats, because that's just the kind of fucker he is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i've gotten a few ppl asking me if i planned to continue w/ the whole guard scenario and then this happened?? this one's for u guys lol.
> 
> honestly this keeps getting worse and worse this is so filthy?? pls do read the tags be careful

 

 

Lotor follows through on his threats, because that’s just the kind of fucker he is, Shiro thinks angrily.

This time, they’ve bound Keith’s hands behind his back again and covered his eyes instead of his mouth, keeping him confused and frightened, covered Shiro’s mouth and kept his arms locked up tight.

He couldn’t try to comfort him this time. He couldn’t try to help, couldn’t tell Lotor to stop, couldn’t do a goddamn thing except watch, the prince’s hand tight in his hair to keep his head in place, and that’s exactly what the bastard wanted.

They’d given Keith new clothes, apparently, the same stuff shiro had worn during his time as a gladiator. When the guards had been called in, his pants were yanked off and his shirt was hiked up and it somehow felt filthier that way, watching them use him with half his clothes still on like they couldn’t be bothered to really get him ready.

And they do use him.

Keith talks back at first, shaky but determined because of course he does—he never did know when to give up. But once a nameless guard had yanked him up by his hair, put a knife against the curve of his ear and told him not to bite or he’d cut it off, he didn’t get much talking in.

Lotor, on the other hand, talks the whole time, fingers absently running through Shiro’s hair. Shiro hates the sound of his smug voice, hates how uncaring or mocking or hungry it can be. He thinks if he hates it, Keith must hate it more.

The prince throws out commands like “pull his hair some more” or “fuck him harder” or “fuck him on his back—just like that, fill him up” but largely doesn’t have to tell his guards what to do—they seem pent up enough to go and go and make it rough and messy and horrible.

Keith is crying at one point, soaking through the blindfold, Shiro is probably crying at another, Lotor wiping his eyes for him in mock sympathy. About four or five guards in, Keith goes very still and very quiet, and Shiro knows he’s trying very hard to be somewhere else, the way he does when he shuts down. A part of Shiro selfishly hopes he does manage to go away, because anywhere is better than here.

A few guards later, Lotor says, head tilted and calculating, “How about we make him feel good, too? Return the favor.” Shiro’s heart sinks through the floor, and then “Play with his chest a little.”

The guards exchange brief looks, but they do as their prince commands like the pathetic dogs they are. The one fucking him braces one hand on his hip and reaches around to roughly rub one of Keith’s nipples. Keith jerks out of whatever state of dissociation he’d managed, and makes a high, confused noise around the cock in his mouth. The man with his hands in Keith’s hair groans.

Seemingly spurred on by that, the other guard rubs again, pinches—Shiro sees the twist of his hand as his rolls it between his fingers—and Keith makes another scared noise and _squirms._

_“Oh,”_ Lotor breathes, and Shiro jumps as the prince’s hand finds its way to Shiro’s zipper, hands ghosting over Shiro’s cock, “I think I found it—sensitive _there_ of all places? Like a human _girl,_ right?”

Keith makes a noise that might be a protest and might be a plea, but Shiro will never know because it’s lost between the guard pulling out of his mouth and the other reaching around to take both nipples in his hands and _twist_. Keith yelps, a full body shudder going through him and flushes all the way down to his chest.

“Stop—don’t—” he’s cut off by his own choked back groan when the guard flicks, and sounds like he might cry again, “I don’t want—”

“To feel good?” Lotor cuts in, “Why not? Are you ashamed of getting off on it? You shouldn’t be—your brave leader’s getting off on it, too, you should feel how hard he is watching you.”

Keith startles, as if he’d forgotten Shiro was in the room, and he jerks his head blindly like if he tries hard enough he’ll be able to see through the blindfold. It’s an action so startlingly _Keith_ it makes Shiro’s stomach hurt.

It hurts more when Lotor makes a fist around his cock and strokes down. Shiro hates himself for how his body responds, the hot pit of arousal—it’s been so long and he’s so tired—hips thrusting up into it like they have a mind of their own.

Lotor laughs, “He _loves_ watching you like this,” he says to Keith, and Shiro shakes his head even though Keith cant see, tries to make noises of protest loud enough for him to hear. “He loves watching you get fucked, loves watching them play with your—what do you humans call them? tits?—while you squirm on a cock,” he laughs again, sounding delighted. “I love it too—it’s so nice to finally see you enjoying yourself—but the Champion has wanted this for much much longer than I have.”

_“Shiro?”_ Keith asks, “what do you—?”

He’s cut off by the guard behind him pulling him back against his chest, knees bent at an odd angle, a big hand loosely around his throat. A warning.

“What do you mean?” He asks anyways, because of course he does. The hand tightens for only a moment to or two before Lotor is carelessly gesturing from the guard to stop. That isn’t what he wants right now.

“I _mean,_ that your brave leader has a _crush_ on you, didn’t you know?” He laughs, “This is probably one of his darkest fantasies—he’s just sad he’s not the one fucking you.”

Keith has gone very quiet again, trembling lightly, and Shiro wants to die. He never wanted Keith to find out this way—he never wanted Keith to find out at _al_ l, never wanted to ruin the bond they had by making Keith uncomfortable, never wanted to make him think the only reason he hung around him was because he wanted to get in his pants because it _wasn’t true_. He was fine with how things were, he was fine with the trust and friendship Keith gave him. He never wanted this. It’s his fault Lotor is doing this to Keith. It’s all his fault.

Lotor’s hand twitches on his cock, head tilted in thought.

“Here’s what’s going to happen,” he says, “I’m going to let my guards finish up, and then your brave leader is going is going to play with your pretty little tits, make you feel good, and you’re going to ride him nice and slow, how does that sound?”

Shiro glares, spits a _fuck you_ through the gag, but Lotor just grins and says, looking at him but talking to Keith, “If he doesn’t, maybe _I’ll_ fuck you again, finally mark up that pretty face.”

Keith flinches hard from his place on the floor, and Shiro knows what choice he has to make.

The guards finish up quick, only a few of them left to take their turn. Keith has gone still again, limp like he’s saving his energy. By the time they’re done, Keith’s pale thighs are a mess of blood and cum, lips bright red and swollen.

When they drag Keith over and set him in Shiro’s lap, he feels the wet mess across his own thighs where Lotor had dragged his pants down, and wants to throw up. Keith’s eyes are still covered, leaving him forever on edge.

To his surprise, Lotor leans over him with a key that unlocks the cuffs around his wrists. He moves to attack, but then Lotor has a knife to Keith’s pale throat and a smile that’s more a warning than anything.

“Try anything,” he growls, “and I’ll cut him open,”

Keith’s throat bobs as he swallows, dragging just along the edge of the knife, and Shiro grits his teeth and lowers his arms in surrender. Lotor smiles agreeably.

“I’m glad we understand each other,” he says sweetly, “Now get on with it,” he gestures, “touch him.”

Shiro freezes, at a loss, hands hovering. Keith just seems frighteningly resigned.

Moments pass, and Lotor huffs, “Do I need to _show_ you how?” A warning, “Just _touch_ him—you’ve been dreaming about this for ages now, I’m doing you a favor.”

Shiro swallows because he’s so fucking right, he’s wanted to touch Keith like this for so so long, but not like this— _Jesus,_ not like this.

“Shiro,” Keith says, voice quiet, breaking him out of his crisis, “It’s—okay. It’s fine, just—” his voice cracks, “just get it over with, okay?”

Shiro closes his eyes, resigned. If he could, he would say sorry, he’s so so sorry, but he’s still gagged and Keith still can’t see him and neither of them will ever be able to come back from this.

Taking a deep, stuttering breath, he forces himself to raise his hands and place them lightly on Keith’s jutting hips, flinching when Keith flinches. God, he can’t even project his movements, can’t tell Keith what he’s going to do—he’ll catch him off guard and scare him no matter what he does.

He spends a few moments working his way slowly up his sides, ignoring the bruises dotting his skin, moving his fingers up and down to try and help Keith relax.

It almost seems to be working, until Lotor gets bored and yanks his hands up to Keith’s chest by the wrists.

_“This_ is what I told you to do,” he growls, “If you don’t know how to follow directions, I’ll give him back to someone who does.”

Shiro shakes his head quickly, desperately, and looks away from Lotor’s smug grin and gesture to _get on with it, then._

He takes another deep breath, and drags his thumbs over the younger man’s budding nipples, pinched bright red by that guard. Keith’s breath hitches sharply. It’s even more jarring up close.

He hates himself, and does it again. Presses into them and rubs in small circles, hating how his body responds to the way Keith shifts in his lap, biting his lip hard. Rolls them lightly between his fingers and tries to remember what’s so bad about this when Keith gasps a small _“Shiro,”_ breathless and flushing pink.

Lotor is there, leans in close against Keith’s back, “You want something,” he whispers, “Tell him what you want, Paladin— _Keith_.”

When Keith’s just ducks his head and bites his lip harder, Lotor brings the knife to the back of his neck.

“Tell him. Do you want him to pull them?” He asks, low and filthy, “Bite them? Pinch them?”

Keith makes a helpless sound at that, and Lotor _lights up_ , “You _slut_ ,” he whispers, pressing the blade further against his neck, “Tell your leader what you want,”

“Sh-Shiro, I,” Keith swallows, sounding like he’s one wrong word away from crying again, “Please—can you—pinch them, please,”

In that moment, despite how much his brain and heart are screaming at him not to, there’s nothing in the world that could make him say no to Keith.

Carefully, he takes the red buds between his fingers and pinches lightly. Keith makes a broken sound, like it feels so good he might die, like he wants to die, maybe, squirming helplessly in Shiro’s lap.

“Just like that,” Lotor murmurs, pressing Keith further into Shiro’s hands. Shiro’s breath catches at the sight and he twists his fingers sharply, groping and kneading—Keith moans, sobs maybe, all Shiro knows is he makes a sound because of _him_ and it’s such a pretty sound.

Digging his nails softly into the tips has Keith’s thighs clenching around Shiro’s lap; pinching and pulling has him practically _writhing_ , panting, making small sounds he can’t quite hold back. Shiro’s never seen Keith like this before, of course he hasn’t, and it’s so incredible and pretty that he wonders vaguely if this is another one of Lotor’s hallucinations—Keith shifts against his pathetically hard cock and Shiro knows it isn’t. 

He wonders if that makes it worse. (He knows it makes it worse.)

Lotor grips Shiro’s cock, suddenly enough that he startles (he’d almost almost forgotten he was there, Keith is so goddamn mesmerizing), and says, voice dark with genuine arousal, “Lift him up.”

“What—?”

“He’s gonna ride you, Champion,” and _oh._ Oh. Oh god, he isn’t ready for this, touching him is one thing but fucking him is another entirely and Keith doesn’t want this, but “If you don’t lift him up, I’ll cuff your arms again—he’ll have to do all the work by himself,” Lotor threatens. 

And god, he hates the prince, he hates him so much he feels like he’ll die from it, but he grips Keith’s hips and lifts him high enough that Lotor can angle his cock right. 

“Slowly,” Lotor orders, and Shiro does—sets Keith down slowslowcareful, rubs his hips when he tenses up, sinking down on trembling thighs. It’s not difficult to slide in—he’s been fucked open so many times by now—which makes Shiro sick to his stomach, but not enough to quench the hot spike of arousal that runs up his spine as he bottoms out. 

They’re both panting, Keith is shaking and trying very hard not to, Shiro is this close to coming because it’s _Keith_ in his lap and he _hates himself_ for it. 

Lotor raises an eyebrow, “You do know how this works, right?” 

Keith gasps out a weak “fuck you” despite everything, and Lotor digs a hand in Keith’s hair and _pulls._ Keith makes a noise that has Shiro bucking up on instinct, and Lotor laughs. 

_“I’ve_ already fucked you,” he says, “Now it’s the Champion’s turn,” and Shiro take that as his cue. 

He lets himself run his hands appreciatively down Keith’s sides to grip his hips firmly, tells himself it’s the best way to get this over with quickly. Really, he hates how turned on he is, he hates how easily his body is responding to all of this, just because it’s Keith. It’s _Keith_ —Keith in his lap, hot around his cock, Keith beat up and tied up and violated and here Shiro is violating him again. And he’s still. Fucking. Aroused. 

It takes a while to find a rhythm, a few too-sharp thrusts or Keith clenching up too tight, but eventually, horribly, they find a good pace. Shiro fucks up into him slowly—he doesn’t want to hurt him after everything that’s happened—and Keith grinds down weakly with every thrust, seems ashamed of the way his half-hard cock drags against Shiro’s stomach.

Even like this, Keith is still so fucking pretty. Shiro has to close his eyes. 

“Fuck him harder,” Lotor demands, and so Shiro does, and Keith is making these breathy little sounds with each thrust and Shiro is trying so hard not to moan but Keith fucking _whimpers_ as he drags against what’s probably his prostate and that’s what does it—Shiro is coming, hips jerking up hard and hating himself and then Keith is clenching up too, muttering _“sorry, sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,”_ breathlessly as he does, like this is somehow his fault.

Belatedly, Shiro realizes he’d been gripping his hips hard enough to leave his own new bruises among the ones already there.

He’s so sorry. He’s not sorry at all. 

He opens his eyes to see Keith slumped backwards against Lotor, just like before, except this time Shiro’s cock is softening inside him. God, he’s gonna throw up. 

Lotor runs his hands through Keith’s sweaty hair in mock-affection. Keith just shivers. 

Shiro wonders, vaguely, why he’s not trying to escape right now, with Lotor seemingly distracted. The prince traces a finger threateningly across Keith’s neck, and Shiro knows why.

He can’t even tell Keith he’s sorry as he’s dragged away again, and Keith can’t see him trying.

He’s so fucking sorry.

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> small interlude: hunk, an angel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im back again but surprisingly no new filth lmao, just a v short gentle hunk interlude chapter what an angel?? sorry if u wanted more Nasty lmao 
> 
> not sure how much more im gonna add to this fic bc i never planned to turn it into even a 2 chaptered thing but here we are lol. will prob be at least one more chapter??

 

Hunk has seen a lot during his past few months in space—a lot of amazing things, weird things, sad things, scary things. He’s seen huge castles and beautiful rock aliens and he’s seen Lance, dirtied and unconscious and _hurt_. He’s been Pidge cry once, late at night. He’s heard Shiro’s nightmares when he walks past his door in the morning.

He’s seen a lot of things he maybe wishes he’d never seen. He’d been prepared to die, a few times, especially during their last big battle, the one where shiro disappeared.

He’s seen a lot, but somehow, for some reason, he’d never imagined _this_ as a possibility—never imagined that this could happen to one of _them,_ to one of his friends. To part of his family.

He and Keith hadn’t been particularly close before the whole Galra Reveal, but they’d gotten closer ever since the Weblum Mission, gotten closer ever since Shiro had disappeared and Hunk had wandered to the training deck and found Keith slumped in against a wall in the corner, trembling like he was knee deep in the snow.

And so he’d decided to come with Keith on his last ditch effort to save Shiro—because he’d never let his friends face these things alone, no matter how scared he was. The rest of the team had been uneasy about all of it, but all of them agreed that the possibility of finding shiro was worth the risk.

Scrambling to his feet to catch Keith as he’s tossed back into the cell, feeling him shaking against him as his legs give out, Hunk wonders if it was worth it. They’d found Shiro—Keith had told him in broken sentences that Shiro was here, Shiro had been caught and probably hurt, but he was here.

He hadn’t talked about what had happened when he’s been pulled out of the cell that first time, but he’d been brought back with his paladin suit unzipped and a messy mixture of blood and something he did not want to think about dripping down his thighs, so. He didn’t have to tell him what had happened. Hunk knew. He knew, and had been horrified. Horrified and terrified and angry at whoever the hell had done this to his friend, whoever had hurt him—violated him, they had—Keith had been. Raped. He’d been raped.

Whoever had touched him—the first and then the second—had taken maybe the toughest person on the team and made him shake and shake and shake, barely speaking a word. Made him almost completely shut down. Hunk couldn’t blame him one bit.

Keith at least let him help him clean up, which Hunk was grateful for, even if Keith flinched a lot and wouldn’t meet his eye. He didn’t have much, but Hunk had managed to rip one of his surprising hard to rip sleeve off to wipe up Keith’s thighs, and helped him zip his suit back up.

Then they’d just sat, side by side, and Hunk had felt Keith shake and shake until he said “I know where he is,” very quietly.

“What?”

“Ten steps left, a right and a left and a left, second door. It’s locked, but there are keys. Shiro’s in there.”

Hunk had nodded, “Good,” he’d said softly, maybe more softly than he’d ever said anything, “That’s good.”

Keith had nodded back. “I wasn’t completely useless.”

“You’re not _useless_ , Keith, I promise.”

Keith has just hummed noncommittally, and eventually let hunk drape a careful arm around his shoulder and curled around him to rest his head in hunks shoulder. He’d always wondered absently what it would be like to hug Keith. This was a horrible way to find out.

They’d sat there, maybe sleeping but probably not, until the guards had come back and tossed some generic gray clothes at both of them. They waited until Keith had just barely gotten them on, before they said “the prince wants to see you again” and grabbed him easily.

The haunted, terrified look on Keith’s face right before they slammed the door again wouldn’t leave his head.

He managed to wait until the sound of Keith’s struggle had faded away before he keeled over and threw up.

The second time they bring him back, they don’t even bother to untie his hands or take the goddamn blindfold off. One of the guards calls him something he never ever wants to repeat as they toss him in. He stumbles in blindly, flinching back when Hunk tries to catch him so hard he hits the wall with a pained noise.

“Keith, _Keith_ it’s me, it’s Hunk,” he says carefully, breathing out when he sees relax a little.

_“Hunk?”_ He asks, voice cracking. He’s only ever heard his voice crack that harsh when he yelled. Vaguely, he wonders if Keith had been yelling.

“Yeah,” he says, “Yeah, it’s Hunk. Hey, I’m gonna untie you, okay? And take the blindfold off, is that alright?”

Keith nods, holding very very still while Hunk reaches around to pull the black cloth off. It’s damp in his hands. Keith blinks rapidly in the near-darkness, eyes rimmed red, and stays very very still while Hunk manages to untie his hands and help him sink to the floor.

For a few long moments the only sounds are Keith’s shaky breaths and Hunk’s heart beat as he tries not to freak out.

“Are you,” he starts, “are you okay?”

It’s such a stupid question, but Keith shrugs anyways.

“I’m gonna need some new pants,” he answers, and Hunk doesn’t know whether that’s wry humor or exhaustion in his voice. He decides to go with humor.

“You want those emo skinny jeans back?” He’s never been as funny as Lance, but he can try.

Keith laughs weakly, “I love my emo skinny jeans.”

“Yeah, I know,” he smiles, “you wouldn’t be you without them.”

There’s a pause, long enough that hunk thinks keith must have fallen asleep, before Keith breathes deep and says, “hey, Hunk?”

Hunk jumps a little, “yeah?”

“The prince,” he starts, and then stops, and hunk can feel the fear rolling off of him, “he. What if he. He made me. Feel…good. If I–if I _liked_ it,” he spits, sounding disgusted, “then is it even still–still–”

“Yes,” hunk cut in, “Jeez, of course it’s still—he _raped_ you, Keith. It doesn’t matter how it felt or if he made you get off—most guys get hard from a _soft breeze_ blowing up their pants. You have nothing to feel guilty about—probably just gonna need a little therapy in the future, right?”

Keith laughs again, but it sounds like more of a sob this time, “Probably.”

Keith is small, Hunk realizes when he leans against him, head resting lightly on his shoulder—he wonders vaguely how he can stand to touch anyone after whatever horrors he’s been through by now. He’s really small, feels smaller when he’s shaking and curled up in messy prison rags. 

He’s very small—ferocious, untamed, so much power packed into one person—when the guards come back again (again, _jeez_ —he hadn’t even seen whatever prince guy they keep talking about, but Hunk hates him; he tries not to hate, he doesn’t like to hate, but Keith is so small and so strong and the asshole is breaking him down little by little in ways he doesn’t deserve, no one deserve), practically yanked off his feet when he tries to struggle.

Hunk tries to struggle this time, too—he’s a big guy, he knows, and he knows he can pack a mean punch when he very rarely needs to. He needs to now. He doesn’t know if his friend can take another round of this, if either of them can take another round of this.

He can’t hold them off for very long, though, and both of them are weak from too-little food, and they shove him back into the cell and drag Keith away by the hair, kicking and punching, before the door slams shut again. 

Hunk sits down hard, panting, and hopes with everything he has that the others will get them out soon.

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They bring him in, for the last time, drugged and blindfolded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> back a month later w the last chapter of this shitshow and this is honestly the worst thing i've ever written?? god.  
> in my defense all ive had to eat today is yogurt, water and antibiotics so. enjoy.

 

They bring him in drugged and blindfolded. Shiro can tell as soon as Keith is dragged through the door that something isn’t right—his efforts to fight back are clumsy and slow, like his body is too heavy to move right, and his bangs are sticking to his forehead. He’s panting lightly. 

Lotor is already here, because of course he is. He’s spent the last twenty minutes talking about how much Hunk had tried to fight the guards off when they came for Keith, laughing at how easily they were both subdued. Shiro is caught between feeling proud of Hunk, grateful that he tried so hard, an angry at the price who never shuts the hell up. 

Shiro told him to shut the hell up, because the gag was ripped from his mouth almost as soon a Keith had been dragged away the day before. He hasn’t tried again, because Lotor’s eyes had darkened and he had went “Maybe I should tell my guards to fuck him in front of his friend; I won’t even have to be there ‘talking too much’; Shiro had shut up real quick. 

The point is, they bring Keith in drugged, and even though Shiro’s wary, he can’t help but cry “Keith?” and “What the hell did you do to him?”

He hates Lotor’s smile, he hates it. “We just gave him something to help this along; he’s been so hell bent on trying to hate everything, I just want him to enjoy himself this time.” 

They had dragged some kind of Galran mattress into the center of the room, just feet away from the tilted table Shiro is still bound to. Just like his dream—hallucination or whatever the hell it had been. 

They toss Keith onto it, throwing him onto his stomach. Lotor steps forwards to run a hand down Keith’s clothed back, and oh. 

Oh no. 

“Stop,” Shiro says frantically, even though nothing he’s said so far has worked at all.

“Stop what?” Lotor asks, hand gripping the back of Keith’s neck to keep him in place when he tries to crawl away, “I’m just trying to be nice to him. You’re so selfish, you’d rather him not have fun at all just so you don’t have to see someone else helping him with it.” 

Lotor leans down, draping himself over Keith’s prone form and burying his face in the crook of his neck, breathing in deep, the way Shiro’s always wished he could. 

Keith makes a vaguely distressed noise and tries to pull away again, but Lotor has a hand in his hair. 

“No,” he says, muffled by the sheets. 

“What was that?” Lotor asks, yanking his head up.

“Please, I don’t,” he shudders when Lotor trails his other hand down to grip his hip, “It’s too hot, please, it’s too hot in here.”

It’s nearly freezing in here, goosebumps that have a permanent home on Shiro’s skin, even through his sleeves and pants. What the fuck did they do to him?

“What did you give him?” and then, “Keith, are you hurting?”

Keith jerks at the sound of his voice, searching blindly for the source. He opens his mouth to say something, but Lotor is shoving clawed fingers into his mouth, cutting him off.

“I told you,” he says above the sounds of Keith choking, “I just want him to enjoy himself, so I gave something that’ll help him feel good.”

Some kind of aphrodisiac, then? That sick fuck.

“You sick fuck.” he says, but Lotor ignore him, choosing instead to pull his fingers out of Keith’s mouth and gripping his hips to flip the boy onto his back. Keith tries to punch at him, but his wrists are forced above his head easily

He shoves a knee between Keith’s legs, which Keith tries to jerk away from, whining low in protest. And then Lotor starts fucking talking. 

“I just want to make you feel good, Keith,” saying his name like he has any right to, “See, before you showed up, I looked inside your brave leader’s head, saw everything he wanted to do to you, everything he _feared._ And you know what really set him off?” he bites at Keith’s earlobe, “When I was fucking you—not _you_ you, back then—and you were _loving_ it. Begging for it,” he laughs, even as Shiro tells him to _shut up, fuck you, stop_ , “begging for me to fill you up, fuck you harder. 

“And you know what I think?” a pause, “The Champion has held out this long, and that really is impressive. But I don’t want that. I want him to finally crack,” he smiles, “So do you know what I’m going to do? I’m going to make you _love it._ I’m gonna make you feel so good you’ll be _begging_ for it for real. And he’s going to watch, just like last time,” he grins again at Shiro’s frustrated growl, “And maybe he’ll finally give in, finally give up. And when he does, maybe I’ll let him fuck you for real, fuck you how he wants to fuck you, deep down. Let him take you rough and moaning—and you’ll love every second of it, won’t you? A slut that loves having his tits played with ought to love getting fucked hard, too.”

Keith is shaking by the end and trying very hard not to, shaking his head back and forth and flinching away from Lotor’s hand on his cheek. 

“What do you think of that?” he asks.

“I don’t want to,” he says, sounding so frantic is makes something inside Shiro ache, “I don’t wanna feel good, please. Do what you want but don’t—please don’t make me—not again, I don’t wanna.”

“I’m sorry, Keith,” he says, not sounding sorry at all, “but you’re gonna have to. It’s nothing personal; I would’ve loved to woo you for real, win you over the right way before I spread you open. I’m not an animal, after all,” he laughs, “But desperate time call for desperate measures, so I had to make an exception. It’s you brave leader’s fault this is happening to you. Remember that.”

Shiro can’t say anything to that, can’t protest. It’s true. It’s his fault Keith was dragged into this mess, and no one else’s. 

“Fuck you,” Keith spits anyways, even as his voice shakes—even as he probably knows it’s true.

“I plan to,” Lotor purrs, dipping a his fingers under Keith’s shirt and pulling it up until it’s bunched under his arms. And then, “You’re so tense, baby, you should relax. Shiro, tell him to relax a little.”

_“What?”_ he growls.

“He likes you more than me—he’ll listen to you easier, I bet. Now tell him to relax, or it’ll hurt.”

Fuck. Fuck fuck. 

“Keith?” he swallows, “You have to—you gotta relax, okay? It’ll be over sooner if you relax.”

“I don’t know about that,” Lotor chuckles, and Keith is taking these deep breaths the way he does before springing into action, only this time he seems like he’s just trying to breathe the tension away. 

“Just like that, good job,” Shiro makes himself say, ignoring the amused look Lotor gives him. He can’t do anything, he’s so goddamn useless, but if he can offer any kind of comfort, he will. 

Keith makes some kind of sound at that, burying his head in the crook of his arm as Lotor’s hands rub circles in his hips. It goes like that for a while, the prince just tracing Keith’s body, running his fingers along the curve of Keith’s chest and stomach, running his hands through his hair, dragging his teeth along Keith’s jaw. Waiting, Shiro realizes halfway through the tense silence, waiting for whatever he gave Keith to settle in deeper, take more effect. 

When Lotor reaches his thighs, groping softly, Keith is panting heavier than he was before, mouth hanging open slightly. He squirms a little as Lotor’s hands trail higher, and gasps when Lotor palms lightly at his crotch. 

“You’re hard,” Lotor says lowly—and he _is_ , Shiro sees. He was so focused on Keith’s face and comfort he didn’t notice the tent in his prison rags. Keith’s face flushes, but can’t seem to stop the buck of his hips when Lotor presses harder. 

Keith sobs maybe, trying to tilt his body away from the prince, “Don’t,” he croaks, “Please, I don’t— _ah!_ ” he gasps again as Lotor _squeezes._

“But you’re so _hard_ —look, you’re practically _dripping_ for it, and you’re telling me you don’t want it?” 

“I _don’t,_ ” his voice cracks, “I don’t want it, I don’t want it, I don’t want it, I—“ he’s broken off by Lotor’s lips on his, Shiro watches the prince dig a hand into Keith’s hair and _pull._ The unwilling moan that spills from Keith’s lips has Keith jerking his head away. Lotor just pulls harder, tugging his head back and baring the curve of his neck. 

Shiro watches the prince lick his fucking lips before he leans down to nip at the place where Keith’s neck and shoulder meet. Keith flinches again, but there’s nowhere for him to move. Instead, he bites his lip with the same determination Shiro’s seen so many times, like he’s refusing to react. Shiro feels like he might cry again, if he can find something left to cry.

It almost works up until Lotor reaches his chest. Drags his shirt up further and spends a few moments just tracing his finger around his areolas until Keith is tense in anticipation. 

It takes about five minutes to get Keith crying again, helped along by the aphrodisiac. Lotor pinches and pulls and bites, sucks and gropes until Keith is shaking, trying so so hard to stay resilient—so strong that Shiro might have found something else to cry about. 

“You could cum just like this, could’t you?” Lotor breathes, so quiet Shiro just barely hears it, “I’ve barely even touched you,” he actually sounds like he’s in awe, “Do you wanna cum?” 

When Keith doesn’t answer, Lotor pinches sharply, making Keith gasp.

“Do you want to cum, _Paladin?_ _Keith?”_

Keith shakes his head frantically, but Lotor just smiles patiently. 

“Shiro,” Shiro starts at suddenly being addressed, “tell him to spread his legs for me.”

“Wha— _fuck_ you,” he spits once he processes the command. 

Lotor pouts, “C’mon, you’ve wanted to tell him that for years. Tell him to spread his legs. He won’t say no to you.”

The prince has a clawed hand right over Keith’s heart, and Shiro tells himself that’s why he closes his eyes and says, as softly as he can manage, “Keith, you. Can you spread your legs for me, please?” 

His eyes jerk back open to the sound of Lotor’s pleased laugh, “I told you he wouldn’t say no to you, what a slut,” and then he’s pushing Keith’s legs further apart than he’d spread them, running his hands appreciatively up his thighs.

His pants are gone in a matter of seconds. Shiro watches Keith trying unsuccessfully to push his legs back together to try and hide himself, and looks away, if only to preserve what Keith has left of his dignity. 

Lotor tuts, “No, no, don’t look away, Champion. This is all for you, after all.”

Gritting his teeth, Shiro forces himself to turn his eyes back to the scene in front of him.

“That’s better.” 

“Fuck you,” Shiro spits, like anything he says will have any difference. Lotor doesn’t even look at him. 

For the third time, Lotor dips three fingers into Keith’s pliant mouth. “Suck,” he says, and when Keith refuses, “Shiro, tell Keith to suck.”

Lotor’s claws are halfway down Keith’s throat, and could easily be shoved deeper, so Shiro hates himself and says. “Keith, can you suck for me? It’ll hurt less if you do.”

Like he’d flicked a switch, Keith sucks almost in earnest. 

“There we go,” Lotor breathes, “I told you you’d enjoy yourself.” 

When he seems them fit, he leaves Keith gasping for breath as the first finger finds his way in. 

Lotor giggles, “I think we might’ve loosened you up too much.” 

Keith sobs, some kind of broken, humiliated sound. 

“Don’t cry, baby,” Lotor says, adding a second finger and crooking his fingers. Keith cries out as Lotor probably finds his prostate with surprising ease. 

“No,” he moans, _“stop,_ stop stop stop—“ and then he’s coming, arching off the bed helplessly. It’s a sight Shiro’s seen only in his dreams, never thought he’d see in person. The circumstances though, stop him from even thinking of enjoying it (eyes raking over his trembling form and hating himself for it). 

Lotor doesn’t stop, just adds the third finger and replacing it with his dick a few minutes later, Keith panting breathlessly. 

Keith barely even protests this time, shaking his head weakly. 

Lotor has one hand on his hip, the other gripping his knee to spread his legs further apart, and he pushes in. Keith arches off the bed again, head falling back against the sheets in a soundless cry. 

“Mmm, I missed this,” Lotor moans, “You’re so hot, so soft compared to so many of the creatures I’ve fucked. You just might be my favorite.” he bends down dragging his teeth along Keith’s jaw, dipping down and biting at a nipple.

Keith moans, shaking and shaking. 

“Your brave leader wishes he were me.” he says lowly, filthily, “He wishes he was the one filling you so good. You wouldn’t believe the shit I saw in his filthy little head. You all think he’s so good, so nice, but the things he wants to _do_ to you,” he chuckles, “He’s had dreams about pining you down when you two are sparring and fucking you right there, into the floor. He’s thought about taking you apart nice and slow, spreading you out and fucking you open, making you scream. Every time he sees you in the shower he has to look away, because one of these days he knows he’ll do something stupid. He wants to fuck you against a wall, hard and fast and rough—“ 

Keith _moans_ , grinding into the next thrust like he can’t help it.

“You like that?” Lotor asks mockingly, “You want that? You want your brave leader to hold you up and fuck you against a wall?”

Keith seems to want to shake his head, but ends up nodding instead. The action, the implications that come with it, leave Shiro breathless. 

“You’re more of a whore than I thought,” Lotor growls, gripping Keith’s thighs and pulling him into the next thrust. 

Keith doesn’t even have it in him to protest, so far gone in the drug that all he does is take it, take the Galra prince’s cock and the words he growls into his neck, and Shiro has to watch it all. 

And god, he hates himself for it, but. But it should be him, he thinks, that should be him, he should be the one holding Keith close like that, and he _hates himself_ for thinking like that—Keith doesn’t want this, he was drugged, he was violated, he’s _being_ violated, but Shiro knows how he feels on his cock now and hearing the sounds he’s making, better than the ones in that fucking fever dream, are so damn captivating he feels like he’s drowning in them. 

“You’re so filthy,” Lotor is saying, “You act like you don’t want this, like you’re so above it, but you’ve wanted it this whole time, haven’t you? You loved being fucked by my guards, you loved sitting on your brave leader’s cock, you love _this_.” Keith _sobs,_ shaking his head weakly, barely coherent enough to do that, “You’re just a _whore_ , aren’t you? Isn’t he, Shiro?”

Shiro startles, “N-no,” he stutters angrily, “Shut the fuck up.” 

Lotor just grins, “Tell him he’s a whore.”

_“Fuck you,”_ Shiro growls.

“Tell him or I won’t let him cum.” Keith hasn’t seemed to notice anything other than ‘won’t let him cum’, and whines desperately, “Look, he wants to so badly. He’s a whore, a _slut_. Tell him so—he believes you, he’ll always believe you, so tell him the truth.” 

Shiro just glares, angry and horrified and hating, “Fuck. You.” 

“Fine then,” Lotor says, and suddenly stops completely, hips clamped down tight on Keith’s hips, forcing him still. 

Keith whines, “Please,” he sounds broken and so fucking lost, “Sh-Shiro? Shiro, please, please please,” 

“Fuck,” Shiro curses under his breath. Fuck fuck. 

“You wanna cum?” Lotor asks. Keith. Keith slumps against the sheets like he’s given up, and nods. 

“You heard him,” he says to Shiro, “And you know what to do."  


He looks at Keith, writhing and trembling on the bed, and closes his eyes. 

“He’s,” he starts, “he’s a—“

“Tell him, not me,” Lotor drawls, “Say ‘Keith, the boy of my dreams, you are a whore’.” 

Shiro feels like he might throw up, “Keith. You. You’re a. Fuck, I can’t, fuck you he’s not.” Lotor raises an eyebrow and waits, “You’re. A whore.” he whispers.

“What was that?” Lotor taunts, “I don’t think he heard you.”

Shiro swallows, “You’re a whore. You’re a slut, Keith.”

Keith makes this broken, _heartbroken_ sound that cuts into Shiro like broken glass, and then Lotor is moving again and Keith is coming anyways. 

He sinks into the sheet, worn out and messy and used. Shiro hates himself. 

Lotor rests for a minute, catching his own breath.

“Good,” he murmurs, “That was good, both of you. I just might let you fuck him tomorrow.”

Shiro doesn’t know whether he should be disgusted or relieved.

 

The others finally come to get them later that night, after Keith’s been dragged off again and Shiro is still stuck, so he never does have the time to decide. 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i cant believe i wrote 11,000 words of this filth jfc


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Maybe I should tell my guards to fuck him in front of his friend,” Lotor had said. 
> 
> (Lotor doesn’t even have to tell them.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a little unnecessary bonus chapter bc I was skimming thru this mess a whole year later and had an urge? sorry everyone. if you've made it this far u know what to expect. set right after the last chapter

  
  
Hunk never actually meets Prince Lotor. Not face to face, not in person. He doesn’t even get the chance to yell at him through the cell door. He wishes he could meet him in person, so he could blast his head off with his bayard.    
  
As it stands, though, he doesn’t even have that. He has nothing. He has nothing to help his friend, nothing to protect Keith or get them both out of here.    
  
When they bring him back the third time, there is something desperately wrong with him. His movements are sloppy and slow, and his speech is slurred, and there are bruises curled around his throat and his shoulder and they drop him onto the floor of the cell carelessly. Hunk rushes forwards to help him, but is stopped by the butt of one of the guards’ guns.    
  
“Stay there,” the guard says.    
  
“Why?” Hunk asks against his better judgment, because of course he’s scared, but his friend is in danger.   
  
“Do you wanna get shot?,” flippantly. He gestures to his friend, who shuts the door.  Hunk hears the lock click, and it feels like they’ve all been trapped — more than usual.    
  
The third guard bends down and shoves Keith onto his stomach instead of curled on his side where he landed.  Keith barely protests when he touches him, just mumbles a little and swats at the man, arching against the floor, and that is when Hunk knows that he is not okay at all. He barely seems aware of his surroundings.    
  
The first guard laughs, “Slut’s still out of it. I told you it lasted a long time.”   
  
“He tried to bite me last time,” the second one complains, “I just wanted to make sure.”   
  
“He won’t be biting anything.”    
  
“Are you sure The Prince won’t be upset?” The third guard asks.    
  
The first guard snorts, “The only thing he told us to do was bring him back to his cell. He’s back in his cell, isn’t he?”   
  
It’s like Hunk isn’t even there. Other than the gun still held threateningly in the third guard’s hand, they pay him no mind at all.    
  
“Get up,” the second one says, nudging Keith with the toe of his boot. It isn’t very bright in the cell, which makes the sound of the guards pulling down the zipper on his pants that much louder. Hunk’s stomach drops.    
  
“Shiro?” Keith asks weakly, voice raspier than normal.    
  
The guard laughs. “Sure,” he says, and then he drags Keith up into his knees with a hand in his hair, and shoves his cock into his mouth.    
  
Even though he knows, he  _ knows _ what they’ve been doing to Keith every time they take him, Hunk is still shocked and revolted. “Hey,” he says, and then louder, “ _ Hey _ !”   
  
The guard with his hand in Keith’s hair glances over at him, unconcerned. “What? You wanna turn?”    
  
Hunk blinks, white hot fury shooting through his veins.    
  
“ _ No _ ! No, I—“   
  
“Then shut up. Just don’t look.”   
  
And that’s it. They pay him no mind. They don’t care, he realizes. They don’t feel a thing. He wonders, feeling sick, how many times they’ve done this before. If they’ve done this to Keith before.    
  
The first guard bends down behind Keith, tugs his pants down, and pushes in unceremoniously. Keith groans around the second guard, something between pain and pleasure, half conscious, and Hunk has to look away. He feels awful, but he doesn’t know what else to do. He doesn’t want to watch this; Keith deserves as much dignity as he can grasp, and he doesn’t want to see his friend violated.     
  
The sounds are bad enough. Choking noises and horrible snickers and slurred, confused noises. Hunk closes his eyes so he doesn’t tear up. Keith is so strong, and they’re stripping that all away. Keith is drugged out of his mind and they’re doing whatever the hell they want with that and he can’t do a goddamn thing. For the first time in his life, he thinks he might hate someone.    
  
It doesn’t last long. The guards finish pretty fast, all things considered. Hunk knows he shouldn’t be grateful for them finishing at all, but it’ll make them leave faster. One of them groans obscenely.    
  
“You sure you don’t want a turn? His mouth is incredible. I’d offer you his ass but Yarlock hasn’t had a go yet.”’   
  
Hunk refuses to answer. They don’t press. He thanks god that the guards don’t ask him to help them rape his friend a third time.    
  
It all goes pretty quickly after that. No one touches his mouth again after the second guard finishes, so Hunk hears the hurt little noises Keith makes with each thrust. He thinks that’s worse than the choking. He thinks that maybe the worst part is that Keith can’t fight; his ability to fight, one of the things that’s always been a part of who he is, has been stripped away. Yeah, Hunk thinks, he can admit that he finally hates someone.    
  
When the third guard is done, he shoves Keith forwards and laugh when he falls. Keith doesn’t even bother to get up, just curls on his side.    
  
The guards don’t say anything when they leave. Don’t even look back. As soon as the door locks, Hunk scrambles forwards, resolutely not looking anywhere but Keith’s face.    
  
“Keith?” He says softly, helping him ease his way up carefully. “Keith, can you hear me?”   
  
“Shiro?” He asks, gazing at him with half lidded eyes. They’re not quite as hazy anymore, looking up at him all lost.   
  
“I’m not— it’s Hunk,” he chokes out. “It’s Hunk.”   
  
Keith searches his face for a few moments before realization sets in. He looks  _ devastated _ . Takes in his surroundings and looks down at his messy thighs and back at Hunk again.    
  
“I’m sorry,” he says, and he sounds so hurt and so tired and so ashamed. “God, Hunk, I’m— I’m so sorry.”   
  
For one horrible moment, Keith is completely still. Hunk slides to catch him when he curls forwards.    
  
“Hey,” he says, touching him as gently as he can, “It’s okay. It’s okay, you don’t have to — Keith, you don’t have to be sorry.”   
  
Keith sobs into his shoulder; Hunk has  _ never _ seen him cry before. “I didn’t — I never — I didn’t want you to —“   
  
“I know,” he whispers, “It’s not your fault.”   
  
“Shiro thinks I’m a slut,” he says suddenly, as if the memory has just come back to him, “He thinks I’m a whore.”   
  
Hunk’s heard clenches, “Shiro would never think that, he —“   
  
“He said it,” Keith sobs, “He said it. He told me to spread my legs and he said I was a slut.”    
  
Hunk doesn’t know what to do with this information; he’s so completely out of his depth and he’s so fucking afraid. He doesn’t know if this was some nasty vision brought on by the drug or if it was real or what, but “There’s no way he meant it,” he says, “Shiro loves you.”   
  
That just seems to make Keith cry harder. Hunk pulls him as close as he dares, and helps him slide his filthy prison rags back up. Not because he’s disgusted or ashamed, but because he wants to give Keith as much privacy as possible. God knows he’s had enough of it stripped away already. This was just its own flavor.    
  
“I’m sorry,” Keith says again, “I’m sorry.”   
  
Nothing Hunks says can make it better, so he settles against the wall, squeezes his eyes shut so he doesn’t cry, and settles in for the ride.    
  
(Their friends come before anyone can come for Keith a fourth time. They break Shiro out, who looks worse than Hunk has ever seen him, and get the hell out of there. If Hunk is more anxious to leave than usual — and he’s usually pretty anxious — well. Part of him doesn’t wanna run into Lotor in any sense. The other part of him is scared of what he might do if he does.)

 


End file.
